A Response to Emma Lazarus
The North lies
Engulfed in snow and stone with
Paint etched vulgarly in
Vapid reminders of presence.
The South waits
In fields of greed and mud with
Rainwater leaking through the rooftops that
Shadow the aging woods.
The West calls
In a search of the second generation full
Of rowdy explorers and criminals and
Souls who’ve been tarnished from both before.
The Nation wails
Wanting nothing more than its division and unity and
Agony and love and
Passion and ignorance and
Beauty and intelligence and
Fame and galore and
People and people and people.
I sit besides the door that exits
The Nation I’ve called my home.
Beyond is the soil and waters of opportunity and the novel and the new and the gold.
But instead I wait patiently,
To soak it up before I go.